I cut my tongue on a potato chip. The very tip. How rude.
I think that this settles the Cheetos versus Lays debate. Cheetos ain’t never hurt anybody.
I don’t really have a good track record for food-related injuries. Yes, this is truly a fat girl problem. Once when I was in 9th grade I burned my face on a cherry turnover.
Embarassing, I know. I had just a made a batch of the gooey flaky PIPING HOT but oh, so delicious pastries for my family. Carbs have always kind of been our thing.
I pulled the pan out of the oven and carefully spooned the confectionery sugar icing over them. The smell of those turnovers would permeate the house and envelope every room with yumminess. Turnovers never lasted long in the house because they would literally call out to every person that was home. What a treat.
With steam still rising off the golden flaky crust I took one bite before cherry filing dripped onto my chin causing a second degree burn the size of a quarter. Not only did it hurt like hell as the skin peeled off but there was no way of hiding what I had done. I looked like a leaper for at least a week carrying the beet red scar of my fat girl sin. Awful.
I’ve always had a weird relationship with food. My body’s painfully slow metabolism has betrayed me since I was a teen. My best friend was a ballet dancer who ate pizza and snickers bars for lunch every day. I favored a can of diet coke and a stick of gum and yet I was always on the fuller side of the body spectrum. I hung out with the theater kids because ACTING WAS MY LIFE. Oh, to be a dramatic teen. (Maybe, I’m still a bit dramatic.) The kids with big personalities, over-the-top feelings, and drive for perfection, those were my people.
A couple friends joked about forming a body-loving club at school called the “Big Beautiful Fat Club,” BBFC for short, and enthusiastically and lovingly invited me to join along with them.
Which would have been a really sweet gesture except that I didn’t think I was fat at the time.
I mean, I knew I wasn’t a waif but I never thought fat. FUN TIMES!
Anyway, I sort of muddled through college on less than stellar food and lifestyle choices except for a couple stints as a vegan. My social circle included some people who were not very kind and my self-esteem took a big hit. I beat myself up a lot about the choices I’d make, every bite of dinner or late night binge. So much shame and guilt and ugliness. I finally graduated from college after six years with a bachelor’s degree in communications and an accompanied screwed-up sense of body image. I left the old friends behind for good and got on with my life.
I think I’m coming around to being sensible about how I let food and the way I look frame my self-esteem. Life is too short to loathe who I am. I still make bad food choices today. I’m looking at you, Lays Original. But, finally, it’s with less shame and guilt.
Albeit, a bit painful sometimes.